


The Best of Magic

by everlovingdeer



Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [166]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Magic, Dubious Morality, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One-Sided Attraction, Out of Character, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22698286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlovingdeer/pseuds/everlovingdeer
Summary: “Of course,” Riddle obliged, watching as the matron moved on to visit someone one. Once we were alone again, Riddle demanded, “How did you create a shield that keeps certain people out? Unless it’s just me? You didn’t use your wand or recite a spell of any sort.” I held my tongue and Riddle sighed. “Despite how tight-lipped you are Miss Lovegood, you’re a rather fascinating witch.”
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s), Tom Riddle/Reader
Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [166]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461751
Comments: 7
Kudos: 240





	1. The Best of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to other sites on 24/12/19

Attending Hogwarts had never been part of my life plan. From a young age – from the very moment my family had discovered that I was the one to inherit the Lovegood family blessing (or even curse, depending on how one looked at it), grandfather had insisted that I be schooled at home. He insisted that it was better for me to stay within the safety of our home, to prevent myself from being exposed to things that would put me at risk. And in some way, I’d agreed with him. I had grown so accustomed to the small pleasures of being at home, of having the security of my family around me as various tutors walked in and out of our home to ensure I had the best education. Just the idea of having to be away from home for the majority of the year made my heart sink like it was made of lead.

And yet, it was now a reality. Somehow, father had convinced my grandfather that I was old enough to go to Hogwarts, that in order for my magic to truly be strengthened, I needed to be exposed to greater stimulation. Grandfather had conceded, turning a deaf ear even to my own protests. Although – before he’d helped me Floo over to the castle he had promised that all it would take was one owl for him to pull me from the school. Part of me wanted to owl him at the earliest convenience but I also wanted to make him proud.

And so, I’d stood beside both my grandfather and my father in the Headmaster’s office. The headmaster, Professor Dippet, rose instantly from behind his desk at the sight of us. Coming around to shakes hands with my grandfather, and then my father, in turn, he promised they could leave me in his care with little worry. But I _was_ worrying.

How could I join the school at the beginning of sixth year? Over the past five years, the students in my year were bound to have cultivated their own friendships and have tight bonds with one another. Where did I fit into the equation? I kept the worries to myself and instead greeted the Headmaster when he finally addressed me.

The older man ushered me toward a stool, placing a hat upon my head and to my wonder – and slight confusion – the hat gave out a call of _‘Ravenclaw’._ I peeked at my father and grandfather, remembering that they too had been placed in Ravenclaw. Both men smiled and as grandfather spoke more to the Headmaster, father stepped forward and helped me off the stood. Then, when I was settled, he waved his wand at my robes and I was now decked in Ravenclaw house colours.

I’d wanted to prolong it, but eventually, father and grandfather needed to make their move. Perhaps they saw the look on my face, the desperate wish not to be left alone because they offered to walk me to my new common room and Professor Dippet, having sent my things ahead to my dorm with a simple swish of his wand, obliged them. As we walked through the castle, I held my silence and did my best to try and remember which corridors we had taken. Father and grandfather filled the silence, giving me all sorts of tips about what I should and shouldn’t say – although I wondered whether their advice would heed any help. Finally, we reached what I assumed was the entrance to the common room – _Ravenclaw Tower_ father corrected.

Confronted with an eagle-shaped bronze knocker, I frowned when it started to speak, presenting me with a riddle to solve.

“You have to answer it to enter,” Father explained.

Frown deepening, I asked, “And if you get the wrong answer?”

“Then you wait for someone to come by and help you.”

“Rowena’s wrath boy,” Grandfather said with a shake of his head. He stepped around father, looking me in the eyes and said slowly, “It’s an eagle-shaped knocker.”

“So…” I stepped forward, grasping the handle of the knocker and knocked, twice. Releasing the handle, I looked to grandfather who beamed with pride.

“A true Ravenclaw,” he declared, satisfied.

We turned then, looking at the door which opened to reveal a student, dressed in robes similar to the ones I was wearing. The girl, seeming younger than me, started and stared at the three of us.

“No one ever thinks to knock,” she confessed, looking between us until her eyes settled on my tie. “I’ve don’t think I’ve ever met you before.”

“I’m new to the school,” I confessed, and I could tell by the way her brows rose in surprise that Hogwarts rarely received new students that weren’t first years. Uncertain of what to say, I looked to my family members.

Father took the lead, smiling and saying, “We came just to drop her off, Miss –”

“Droope, Margot Droope,” she introduced, shaking my father’s hand.

“Droope,” grandfather exclaimed suddenly, “I knew your grandfather back in the day. We hexed the Ravenclaw stairs far too many times.”

Margot looked between the three of us then, her eyes lingering on the unique colour of our hair for a moment. And then she was smiling widely as she declared, “Mr Lovegood – grandfather speaks often of you.”

“Only good things I hope,” grandfather said with a chuckle before mumbling, “I really should owl him.”

Then, as if remembering why we were here, he cleared his throat and gestured towards me once more. It took some more time before grandfather and father finally left, after getting Margot’s assurance that she would look after me. I hugged them both tightly, wanting to be able to go home with them. But I couldn’t. Left alone, I turned to Margot who offered me an encouraging smile and then helped me into the common room.

Walking slowly alongside the girl who’d been roped into looking after me, I searched the common room and tried my best to ignore all the curious glances that were being thrown my way. My eyes lingered eventually on the large bookshelf where a group of first years had gathered. Slowly, I smiled.

Beside me, Margot cleared her throat and asked, “What year are you going into?”

“Sixth.”

“Really?” She smiled suddenly then, clutching my hand in hers. Ignoring my wide eyes, she confessed, “I’m in sixth as well – even though I don’t look it. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the girls.”

And so, I found myself being drawn behind Margot and up the stairs to the sixth year girl’s dormitory where I was greeted again by two other girls. Margot led the introductions, gesturing first to Amya Everhart who was in the middle of fighting with a stubborn lock of hair that wouldn’t lie flat and then to Maribel Sanchez who bounded over with a soft smile and declared that now there were four girls there would be no shortage of partners. I could only smile back, allowing their pure, unadulterated happiness wash over me. Was this what father said about enhancing my magic?

Whatever it was, it continued late into the night where we stayed awake for _far_ too long. The girls beguiled me with tales of Hogwarts and ensuring that I knew which staircases to avoid. In turn, I told them about my own mundane life that seemed to hold all their attention. We slept far too late and had to awaken far too early the next morning.

Once we had dressed, my dormmates were kind enough to show me the way to the Great Hall and promised they would show me to all my lessons. Last night I’d compared my schedule with theirs and was infinitely grateful that I shared each lesson with at least one of them. They filled the walk with chatter, not minding that I wasn’t adding anything to the conversation. Rather, they seemed to understand that I was a little overwhelmed with the scale of the castle. They couldn’t possibly imagine that I could sense something so foul lingering in the corridor that I could taste it on my tongue. When we neared the Great Hall, Amya stopped in her steps. We all followed suit and when I looked curiously at her, I found that she was looking toward the Headmaster who stood off to one side, talking to a tall boy.

“The Head Boy,” Maribel answered my silent question, drawing away from me when the Headmaster looked up.

Finding me standing there, he gestured for the Head Boy to follow him as he approached. When he was standing in front of me, he accepted the various ‘Good morning, Headmaster’ coming from my dormmates. He returned them in his own fashion before turning to me.

“Miss Lovegood, just the person I was looking for,” Professor Dippet began and my dormmates took that as a sign to leave, after promising to save me a seat. I watched them leave whilst wishing they’d stayed. There was something here, something lingering in the air that was making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “It’s good to see you settling in.”

“Thank you, Professor,” I said slowly, even as my eyes drifted past him to the seventh-year boy standing a few paces back.

He watched me with all the politeness in the world, inclining his head in silent greeting. I breathed out a shaky breath – it was him. Whatever was hanging in the air and making me so uneasy was coming from him. Outwardly there was nothing out of ordinary about him as he stood, tall with pale skin, black hair and dark eyes that narrowed slightly – just slightly at my continued stare. He was handsome, yes, but there was something lingering under the surface that marred his features into something horrific – even if that something horrific was only visible to my eyes. And even if only for a moment.

Professor Dippet, as if noticing where my eyes lingered, laughed good-naturedly and gestured the Head Boy forward. “Perhaps I should do the introductions? This is Tom Riddle, our Head Boy and this Mr Riddle, is Miss Lovegood.”

I could only offer a false smile, doing my best not to step away. The moment he’d moved to approach me, my magic had surged out and curled safely around me to cocoon me. I wondered if he felt it too, if the way his eyes were now blazing as they considered me, meant anything.

Riddle outstretched a hand, saying good-naturedly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lovegood. If you need any assistance, please feel free to approach me.”

My eyes lingered on his proffered hand; on the ring he wore on his third finger. It was the ring – there was something about the ring. As Professor Dippet continued to ramble about something, Riddle cleared his throat and pointedly glanced back to his hand. I didn’t want to – I really didn’t want to. But Dippet had started to look at me.

I reached out slowly to shake his hand. The moment the band of the ring brushed my skin I knew.

There was nothing to stop the gasp that wrenched itself out of my throat as I pitched forward, body limp as my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I was conscious enough to feel Riddle’s arms around me to steady me whilst Dippet remained level-headed and said something about taking me into the Hospital Wing. Riddle for some reason wouldn’t let me go and instead insisted he would carry me.

I felt the ground disappear from beneath me as Riddle lifted me whilst calling for me to wake up. My last conscious thought echoed around my head like a horrified scream – dark magic. The ring had been _dark magic._

* * *

Regaining consciousness, I kept my eyes closed as I took the time to gather my thoughts. I had enough sense to realise I was on a bed with a pillow tucked safely under my head but just what had made me –

Of course, for the first time in my life, I’d been exposed to dark magic and my unwilling brush against it had sent me into a fit. The Head Boy of all people was using dark magic. Unless he didn’t know? No, there was no way he was wearing the ring without knowing what magic resided inside of it. His eyes had watched me far too shrewdly for him to be so unaware of just what he was wearing. How was it that he could become Head Boy whilst practising dark magic in Hogwarts? The answer was simple – no one knew. Only, how could they be unaware when the stench of black magic always lingered foul and horrid in the school? Again, the answer was too obvious – not many were as sensitive to its presence.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and instantly wished I’d put it off for longer at the sharp bright light that illuminated the room. Allowing my eyes to adjust, I sat up slowly and peered around the room to see several beds lined along 3 of the four walls. Very few of them were occupied with students by a woman – the matron, I assumed – was tending to one of the students. Fixing the pillow to rest against the headboard, I sat up properly and searched the infirmary. Belatedly, my eyes settled onto the chair at the foot of my bed and the seventh year seated there.

Just the sight of him, sitting there and reading a textbook of some sort as if he _wasn’t_ the reason I was here had my chest rising and falling in an awkward, uneven rhythm. Why was here? What would it take for him to leave? Unwilling to draw attention to myself, I searched out my wand and found it resting on the bedside table. I inched toward it and stilled sharply when the bed frame creaked at the motion. Hurriedly, I took my wand and curled my hand around it, and then concealed it under the duvet.

My eyes shot to Riddle who had risen to his feet at the sound of the bed frame. He continued to stand at the foot of the bed, holding his hands and the book behind his back. Watching him apprehensively, I leaned as far into the pillow as I could, wanting to put some space between us, even as he smiled charmingly at me.

“You’re awake,” he said redundantly. When I said nothing and continued to watch him like he would attack me, he studied me for a moment. His eyes flickered toward the white-knuckled grip I had on my wand as if he could see it under the duvet. Raising his eyes – amused and curious – back to mine, he offered, “You’re the first girl to have fainted into my arms, Miss Lovegood.”

Still, I held my silence, doing my very best to maintain my calm breathing. He walked toward me then, coming to join me at the top of the bed. My magic reacted without needing to be summoned, without a single word needing to be spoken and without my having to use my wand; it erected an invisible shield between us that allowed me to breathe easier. Riddle stopped short as if he could feel the shift in magic in the air. It was my turn to study him; was he just as sensitive to magic?

He met my assessing eyes, as he outstretched a hand to test the shield. Recoiling at the sting that met his fingertips, he cradled his charm against his chest and murmured, “Impressive.”

Again, I remained silent. The shield would keep him – any dark magic out. To have my suspicion that the Head Boy was using dark magic confirmed again, made me that much more desperate to leave Hogwarts. Only I’d promised father that I’d try for one term.

“I won’t harm you,” Riddle said eventually. I didn’t dare disagree aloud that not only could he harm me, but he _would_ if I continued to infuriate him. Because my continued silence _was_ infuriating him, I could tell.

As if he didn’t know better, he tried once more to pass the shield and failed once more. This time the sting was greater, prompting a sharp hiss to pass his lips. Riddle’s eyes narrowed then and before my very eyes the façade he showed to the rest of the school, the one that allowed him to become Head Boy faded and I found myself looking into the face of a monster. It disappeared in the very next instant when the matron arrived, easily passing through the shield to check on me. Riddle’s eyes shifted once more then but I certainly gave him no answers.

Instead, I addressed the matron, “How much longer must I stay here?”

“At least until tomorrow morning,” the elderly witch said, as she waved her wand to conduct various tests. “I plan to observe you all night and if all is well, you’ll be released tomorrow morning. Now don’t show that face Miss Lovegood, your dormmates made a ruckus just an hour ago – they plan to visit you during lunch so keep your chin up.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Satisfied, the matron turned toward Riddle who continued to stand guard beside me. She shook her head, as if exasperated and pointed her wand at his chest, “I allowed you to stay here because you had a free period Mr Riddle, but 5 minutes and no longer. I refuse to allow you to be late to your next lesson.”

“Of course,” Riddle obliged, watching as the matron moved on to visit someone one. Once we were alone again, Riddle demanded, “How did you create a shield that keeps certain people out? Unless it’s just me? You didn’t use your wand or recite a spell of any sort.” I held my tongue and Riddle sighed. “Despite how tight-lipped you are Miss Lovegood, you’re a rather fascinating witch.”

I didn’t want to _fascinate_ him – I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Finally speaking to him, I asked, “Can you leave?”

His expression flickered, the furrow between his brows pinching before flattening out once more. He approached the bag and book he’d previously discarded and picked them up. “As the matron said, I have a lesson I should be getting to.”

Merlin, I was glad to see him go. 

* * *

The matron had decided that I needed to remain under her watch for a little longer. Apparently, after having discussed something with Professor Dumbledore – who I had yet to meet despite having heard of him – and Professor Dippet – who seemed worried about disappointing my grandfather – they decided it was really important that I was kept under careful watch. I myself felt like I was going to go insane, stuck in the hospital wing with next to nothing to do.

My dormmates took turns staying at my bedside table whenever they had a free period and would diligently give me copies of the notes they’d taken during the lesson. Whenever I was alone, I had nothing more to do than to revise so often that I was certain I’d be able to answer any possible question asked of me. The curtains that had been drawn around my bed were opened, prompting me to lower the notes I’d been studying. I expected it to be Amya, coming to visit me after her lesson. But it wasn’t. It was an older wizard with a long beard and crescent moon glasses balancing on his nose.

“Miss Lovegood,” he said walking in and taking the seat beside my bed. I shuffled slightly, watching the older man uncertainly. He caught the movements, apologising instantly. “Perhaps I should introduce myself – my name is Professor Albus Dumbledore. I wished to introduce myself sooner but circumstances kept me away.”

“It’s no problem,” I assured him, settling more comfortably now. “But … why are you here, Professor?”

“I promised your father that I would watch over you,” he admitted gravely with a sigh. “Only, I fear I’ve failed so soon. Do you perhaps have any idea why you might have fainted so suddenly?”

“From my understanding Professor, father has already told you everything. Fidgeting with my fingers, I murmured, “Surely you already know the reason behind my fainting?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” He sighed once more, heavier than the first. “Although I have to ask, in order to protect Hogwarts, just where did you come into contact with dark magic?”

I lifted my eyes then, turning to look at the wise Professor who held my eyes cautiously. It would be so easy to tell him, to point fingers at the Head Boy and leave him to be dealt with by Professor Dumbledore. It was only the right thing to do. And yet, I couldn’t bring the words to my lips. They refused to leave my mouth and I did try; I really did try. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve assumed that I’d been hexed but I hadn’t. Rather, there was something wrong with _me,_ something in myself that was stopping me from saying it. Merlin, just what sort of person did that make me?

“I can’t remember,” I lied and Professor Dumbledore, never having expected a lie from me, accepted it with a nod.

“That’s understandable.” Shaking his head, Professor Dumbledore hesitated as if he didn’t want to say what he had to say next. Still, he forced himself to say it, “This will likely taint your magic, Miss Lovegood. You know as well as I do that pure light magic is easily tainted.”

“I understand but I don’t _feel_ as though my magic has been tainted.” Professor Dumbledore seemed no parts convinced, but I continued to assure him, “I feel fine Professor. Although, I do wish to go home. After the term has ended, I have no plan to return to Hogwarts.”

“Perhaps that is a decision better made when the time comes,” he said finally, rising to his feet and preparing to leave. I stared up at him, listening as he said, “Your family wished you to fulfil the remaining years of your studying at Hogwarts so you would brush up against all forms of magic.”

I said nothing else, watching as he bade me goodbye and left. Silently, I had to agree that grandfather was right; Dumbledore liked to collect powerful people. Although I didn’t intend to be one person he collected. Rather, I would bide my time here, keep my head down for the remaining weeks of the term and then slip away without a word. Professor Dumbledore was right, light magic was easily tainted and I didn’t _want_ to be tainted, at all. And yet, it had already begun. My brush against dark magic, seconds long had started it all.

Groaning to myself, I burrowed my head into my hands and breathed out deeply. Really, I wanted to go home. I wanted to be able to talk to grandfather about this, because he understood me better than dad did. His mother had been the same as me. Although she’d passed before I’d been born, grandfather knew all about living with someone like me. He always managed to ease my mind; Rowena, I wanted to talk to him.

Someone cleared their throat, making me look up in surprise. I expected it to be Professor Dumbledore who returned because he had something, he remembered he needed to discuss with me. Only it wasn’t. Tom Riddle had returned. I watched, horrified, as he settled easily into the chair that Dumbledore had previously occupied. He didn’t need to say a word, I could tell from his eyes alone; he’d overheard our conversation. 

* * *

Tom Riddle was a frequent visitor to my bedside. My stay in the hospital wing had wound up lasting several days and I was finally granted permission to return to the common room. As I packed the things that I’d gathered over the past few days – a set of pyjamas, my toothbrush, my hairbrush and various other little things – I found myself once more being visited by the Head Boy. The seventh-year visited me repeatedly and I couldn’t help but wonder why he was here. Over each of his visits, I’d remained tight-lipped as he sat by my bedside, trying to coax responses out of me. For someone who was supposed to be exceptionally bright, he was rather slow. The Slytherin stopped once more beside my bed, his eyes looking over me as I continued to pack my belongings into a small bag. He waited until I looked at him, finally acknowledging his presence.

Then, and only then, did he say, “Good morning. I take it you’ve been discharged?”

I held back the sarcastic retort that ‘no, I’m trying to run away’. Rather, I continued to carefully fold my pyjamas and to pack my things away. Overall the last few days, over his multiple visits, I’d realised that Tom Riddle was unable to handle his curiosity. Riddle craved knowledge, needing it to excel and surpass his fellow students. But, _this_ – my conversation with Dumbledore, was knowledge he wanted to learn. I knew something he didn’t – something that he would struggle to find information about in the library because he didn’t know the where to look – and he coveted that information. Unfortunately for him, I had no wish to talk to him, or to interact with him in a way that would make him seek me out more than he already did.

Zipping my bag shut, I set it aside and continued to wait for Riddle to give up and leave. Although, he wasn’t impatient – he usually managed to linger at my side for an hour before he was made to leave because he had a lesson. I wanted to find out what his presence was doing to my magic, what being exposed to his use of dark magic was doing to my own magic. In order to do that, I needed to leave this Hospital Wing first and put as much space between us as possible.

It was worse when he approached me when one of my dormmates were here because he put on a show – playing the part of the concerned Head Boy who was checking up on the sixth-year student that had collapsed into his arms. The presence of the Matron stopped whatever Riddle was going to say on the tip of his tongue. He turned to greet the older woman, and she returned his smile with a warm one of her own. Finally, looking at me, she checked over me one final time.

“Well,” she said, clapping her hands together and stepping away, “I believe you can head back to your common room, Miss Lovegood. Please do try to stay healthy.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said simply, standing and smoothing down the duvet of the bed. Last night Maribel had dropped my uniform off and having already changed into it, I grabbed my robe and shrugged it on as the Matron turned once more to face Riddle.

“Mr Riddle, can I help you with something?”

“No, ma’am.” I peeked at him suspiciously, disliking the tone of his voice. “I felt as though I should walk Miss Lovegood back to her common room.”

“Oh,” said the Matron sounding like she was touched by his concern. Righteous Rowena, this was the very worst part of the matter. Riddle’s continual presence at my bedside was prompting talk to circulate around the castle – talk that my dormmates had faithfully relayed to me – that the Head Boy had lost his heart, a hard-won heart it seemed, to the girl he’d saved. Really, he hadn’t saved me – he’d _caused_ this. “Of course, I understand, Mr Riddle. Please look after Miss Lovegood.”

“Of course,” he said, to the matron’s back. When we were alone, he turned his eyes, guarded, to my own.

“You don’t need to,” I insisted, reaching to take my bag. He beat me to it, taking a hold of it and holding it out of my reach. “Really, I can walk myself.”

“Can you?” He arched an eyebrow disbelieving, “You collapsed on your very first morning at Hogwarts, I doubt you know your way to Ravenclaw Tower. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

I couldn’t. Riddle, proved right by my silence, offered me that false charming smile and assured me that I just needed to follow after him. If I didn’t want to get lost in this castle, I had no choice but to comply – especially when he had my bag. Taking a moment to gather myself, I walked alongside him, standing closer to him than I had since our first interaction. I wished my magic lashed out as it had the before, to form a shield between us, but it didn’t. It had grown a little more used to his presence – it was already tainted.

Reaching into my robe pocket, I clung to my wand as Riddle finally broke the silence, “Miss Lovegood, after our last one-sided conversation, I conducted some research into your family. There are tales that members of your family are born as incarnations of pure magic – light magic. They are born after the previous incarnation died. Records show that the last known incarnation, your great grandmother passed away before your birth.”

“You would do better than to believe in tales,” I murmured softly, unsurprised that he’d managed to figure it out – some of it. The tale of the pure light magic in the Lovegood blood was well documented but what that meant, what the consequences were – that information was less well recorded.

He didn’t respond to my words. Rather, he considered me as we walked, “You must be a very powerful witch. Although, you try your best to seem the opposite.”

I held his gaze for a moment, turning away from him and thankfully spying the entrance to the common room. Hurrying away from him, I approached the knocker and waited for the riddle. I wanted to put as much space between us as possible and if he kept my bag, so what? I could just buy new things. Right now, I needed to get away from him. The eagle knocker took its time and Riddle continued to approach me. Merlin, why couldn’t he just walk away and leave me alone?

_The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?_

“Miss Lovegood,” he called out again and I wished he would just leave. But he continued to look at me and I noticed the sheer number of students who were walking around us were casting curious glances towards us. I realised then, that he’d been loud on purpose – if I ignored him, I’d be heartless to turn away from the boy who’d shown so much care to me. And if I scorned the Head Boy, no doubt I would be ostracised. Forced to address him, I looked at him in silence.

Thankfully he said nothing and simply handed me my bag. I took it quickly, expecting him to disappear. But he didn’t. He reached out another hand then as if to touch me. And to my utmost relief, my shield appeared then, separating the pair of us. Riddle’s hand collided with the sudden barrier, hisses as if he’d been burned and drawing it back to his chest. He cradled his hand against his chest, silently watching me. Likely he was thinking the exact thing I was; why had the shield appeared so suddenly after having not been there before?

Finally, he turned to the eagle knocker and demanded, “The riddle?”

For a moment, there was a silence and I believed that it wasn’t going to tell him. But then, it did; _The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?_

Riddle’s eyes flickered back to me for a moment, watching me assessing. Was he wondering what he would need to do to get answers from me? Because I certainly wasn’t going to give him answers – when I wasn’t too sure of them myself.

“Footsteps,” Riddle declared finally and the door opened. I hurried inside without addressing him one final time. 

* * *

My unnecessary long stay in the hospital wing came with multiple repercussions. First, my dormmates were convinced that I had been kept out of Hogwarts because clearly my health was fickle and they had taken it upon themselves to act as vigil guards. Margot was there each mealtime to ensure that I was eating properly, Amya had given herself the responsibility of asking each morning if I needed to visit the hospital wing and Maribel, who always came and sat on the edge of my bed each night, asked me how I was feeling. Of course, I was grateful for their concern, and that they were so willing to take time out to check on me.

But then that brought me to the next consequence. Without fail, they would weave Riddle’s multiple visits to my bedside into the conversation. They sought to remind me that Riddle wasn’t the sort of seventh-year to show interest in girls – in fact, they couldn’t remember him having showered someone else with as much attention as he was giving me – and continued to give me. They continued to pester me, wishing to know what was happening and if our relationship was developing. Every time I insisted that we had _no_ relationship, they assured me that there was no need to be coy.

Although I felt bad about it, I had taken to spending time away from my dormmates. Sometimes, I just wanted to spend time away from them. In those instances, despite how odd it was, I joined the first-years and second-years. The younger students had watched me wearily the first time I joined them in the common room or at the lunch table and eventually, they warmed up to me. They had such a precious curiosity about the way I was taught outside of Hogwarts that they asked me dozens of questions and I answered each one. My dormmates thought it strange, as did the sixth-year boys and the seventh-years, but I didn’t have the words to explain to them. How could I possibly tell them that first-years and second-years had the most pure magic? That they remained untainted by the angst of puberty or for some, darkening thoughts. It was as if, by being with them, I could feel my own magic being purified.

I listened, without a word, as I sat with my dormmates in the Great Hall during our shared free period. They had once more reverted to talking about Riddle who had apparently asked Maribel to fetch me but I’d been asleep – I wanted nothing more than to join the first-years again. Instead, I just listened in silence and thanked Merlin that the conversation drifted from Riddle to the Potions essay that Slughorn had assigned. Margot promised to help me if I needed it and I thanked her but assured her that if I needed her help, I would ask. At this, Amya protested that she was the one that needed her help and to appease her, Maribel told her to bring out her textbook so they could see what help they needed.

We all pulled out our Potions textbook and as I flicked to the right page, I absentmindedly corrected Amya when she wrongly named a property of Unicorn hair. She made a sound of understanding, jotting the correction down when there was a call of ‘Miss Lovegood’ that had my spine stiffening – I had heard _that_ voice call my name far too often. My friends caved first, turning to look at the seventh year who approached the four of us. I didn’t look up, not until Margot kicked my leg from under the table.

Forced to address him, I lifted my eyes and regarded the smiling Slytherin with obvious contempt, “Riddle.”

Finally, he turned to address my friends and then noted, “You must be revising for Potions; has Professor Slughorn already assigned an essay?”

“He has,” Maribel said, filling the silence and looking at me as if to demand to know how I could be so rude.

“Well, good luck to you ladies.” He fell silent once more, considering me again. There was something in his eyes, something I grew far too good at reading that I wanted to break my silence then to demand he not speak. But he did, shrugging his shoulder as if he was feeling bashful, before asking, “Do you mind if I join you?”

I did mind, very much so. But Amya, who had been sitting next to me, slid down across the bench to make space for him between us – next to me. My hand shot out, trying to get her to remain where she was. Amya, bless her, was the only one to actually search my eyes and then she was frowning, returning to my side and sitting firm. Not that Riddle was dissuaded. Instead, he took to my other side that happened to be empty. Rowena, I was _really_ missing the first and second-years.

When Riddle sat beside me, the length of his thigh _so close to mine,_ that it was as if I could feel the dark magic drifting from his body. I breathed in slowly, inhaling deeply and clutching my hands together in my lap the way I’d taken to doing in the presence of dark magic. Because I didn’t faint anymore – my magic was marred now. I could still feel his dark magic, it still turned my stomach, and I knew that if his thigh _did_ touch mine, I would still be in pain. Unconsciously, I shuffled closer to Amya who cast me a long look whilst Riddle spoke to my friends. Margot and Maribel looked caught between bliss that Riddle was talking to themand agony caused by having to uphold a decent conversation when all they wanted to do was murmur appreciatively about him.

Gathering myself, I breathed deeply once more and tuned into the conversation – something mundane about a club that Professor Slughorn had. Riddle turned to me then, looking at me in a way that made it obvious that all his concentration was focused on me, “I imagine you’ll be invited soon, Miss Lovegood.”

“I’m not sure I wish to be invited,” I murmured faintly.

His brows furrowed; looking over my face which I _knew_ had grown paler from our current interaction. He lowered his voice softly, asking, “Is there something wrong?”

I glanced at his hand, resting on the table and glanced pointedly at his ring before meeting his eyes. He curled his hand into a tight fist as I said, “Nothing.”

* * *

Despite knowing better, despite no matter how often I tried to rationalise against it, my eyes trailed after Riddle. Every time he entered the room, it was like my eyes were drawn to him because somehow I _knew_ he’d entered and my eyes were intent on proving it to me. It was wrong and stupid, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from doing it. The worst part was that I couldn’t figure out why. But if I could feel when Tom Riddle entered the room, _he_ could feel when my eyes sought him out. I’d briefly entertained the idea that my brush up against his dark magic had connected us somehow but there was nothing there to back it up. Without fail, each time, Riddle would watch me with satisfaction he either showed outwardly with a smirk or it was hidden behind shielded eyes, it was there, nonetheless. Horrifyingly I wondered whether he believed that I’d grown attached to him as the castle believe he wanted. As if to make matters worse still, it had become reciprocal; his eyes often followed me across a room or was there to meet my waiting eyes. This was truly too much.

My search brought me to the library, researching the potential of a draw between opposite types of magic. In order to find the correct information, I needed to get a permission slip from my head of house to be granted access to the restricted section. Of course, he’d been hesitant at first, before I’d given a brief explanation about needing to do some research about my heritage and he’d eventually conceded. I’d found the right book easily and to my distress what I found in the book confused me more.

The book spoke of the draw between magic; light and dark. It posited that whilst the draw of light magic to dark was well documented, the opposite was true. Dark magic was just as attracted to light. If it was true – if that was true then what did that mean? My brushes against dark magic were tainting and corrupting my magic. But what did that mean for his magic? What was each exposure he had to my magic do for _his?_ The revelation wasn’t the worst part of it all.

The very worst of it was that it continued to give me things to consider. When I reached the final chapter of the short book, it suggested that in fact there could never be two types of magic. It suggested that there was no such thing as light magic or dark magic. Rather, there was one form of magic and all that mattered was the way in which it was used. To my horror, it made sense. It actually made _sense_ to me.

Sighing, I dropped my head into my hands and massaged my temple. If there was only one form of magic, then what did that make me? How could I be a manifestation of pure light magic if there was no such thing as light magic? I didn’t dare talk to my family about what I’d found; what would my grandfather say if I suggested that his mother _wasn’t_ a manifestation of light magic like he thought? Unless … unless the important thing was how magic was used and the way someone would use magic?

Merlin, this was too much.

I lifted my head, reaching once more for the book to see if there was something that I’d missed only to have it taken from my hands. I didn’t even have to look up to know that it was Riddle once more butting his nose into my business. He glanced curiously at the title, settling into the seat across from me before he started reading on form where I’d left off. I had no idea where he reached up, he lifted his eyes to mine, slowly closed the book and set it aside.

“Are you drawn to me?” he asked slowly, holding my eyes. For what I was certain was the first time, his eyes were open in their curiosity as he corrected himself, “To dark magic?

“I would never be drawn to dark magic,” I said softly, even as I was unable to look away, completely contradicting my words.

“To me then?” he pressed. And I couldn’t say anything, I couldn’t bring myself to disagree with words so I simply shook my head. For a long moment, he said nothing as well. And then, solemn and searching, he admitted, “I am – drawn to you.” 

* * *

Directly after my last interaction with Tom, I fled the library, taking the book with me. I didn’t want to contemplate it – Tom supposedly being drawn to me and I certainly didn’t want to find myself accosted by the Slytherin once more. Because the very worst thing was that I was drawn to him. That despite his use of dark magic, he was still breathtaking and the raw power that emanated from him with every spell he cast was so palpable in the air that I almost lost my breath. I was drawn to him – very drawn to him. But I refused to be. I refused to let him find me until I could gather some sort of understanding in my mind.

And so, I hid in the one place I knew he wouldn’t be able to enter – my dormitory. He could easily grant himself access to our common room – I’d witnessed as much first-hand with his easy answering of the riddle but he would never be able to climb the stairs to our dorm. Not when he cared so much about maintaining his image.

Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I had the curtains drawn around me so my dormmates wouldn’t try to speak to me. I must have sat in one position for hours, with my toes having fallen asleep ages ago but I continued to read. Because there wasn’t – I refused to believe what was written in the book. It was purely speculative of course, but the researcher who had spent the better part of his life conducting the research himself wouldn’t be wrong. Or not too wrong at least. They spoke not just of the draw of magic but of balance. The book, to my horror, suggested that whilst his presence – his dark magic was tainting mine, my magic was doing the very opposite to his. Did Tom realise that my magic was purifying his? If he did, did he not care?

Closing the book with a frustrated sigh, I set it aside. Stretching my legs out before me, I wiggled my toes to bring some life back into them and lost myself once more in my own thoughts. Magic was all about balance – the book had insisted. The attraction between polar opposite magical traces was there to bring about balance. Was it my responsibility to purify Tom’s magic when he had been the one to corrupt it in the first place? But what if this was the reason behind the well-documented existence of opposing yet complimenting magical traces? What if that was the real reason behind this compulsion, I had spent so long fighting – the one that even now had my thoughts drifting back to him.

“This isn’t fair,” I groaned aloud into my hands. I wished then, not for the first time, to have been able to contact my great-grandmother. She’d been like me and surely, she’d figured it all out as well. I just wanted to be able to talk about this with someone who understood.

My dormmates took the sound of my voice as a sign that they could approach me. I heard, from the other side of the curtain, as Amya gave a call of my name. Opening the curtain, I found her standing hesitantly on the other side.

“I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy thinking about something,” she started with an apologetic smile, “But Professor Dumbledore wanted to meet with you.”

“With me?” I asked with furrowed brows, hiding the book under my pillow.

“Yes, he’s waiting for you in his office.”

“Oh.” I hopped off my bed and put my shoes on, “Thank you.”

On the way to Professor Dumbledore’s office, I couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted from me. What were the chances that my grandfather had missed me so much that he decided to pull me from the school? That would be a welcome blessing; it would certainly bring me from this complicated and confusing situation and my thoughts would still no doubt draft toward Tom but I would be away and I would have space to think. When I finally did reach Professor Dumbledore’s office, I knocked on the door and waited for him to call out for me to enter.

“Come in,” his voice called out from behind the door.

Walking into the room, I was slightly disappointed that my grandfather actually wasn’t here. It was only Professor Dumbledore who sat behind his desk and was busy marking something. I waited beside the door, and only when he looked up and gestured for me to take a seat, did I walk further in. He was smiling, but it seemed stilted and small. Holding my hands together, I settled into the chair and silently waited for whatever he wanted to talk to me about.

“How are you, Miss Lovegood?” he asked eventually, setting his quill aside.

“Sir?”

“I realise that I haven’t spoken to you since you were discharged from the hospital wing.” He rested his chin on joined hands, considering me, “From what I hear from the chattering students, Mr Riddle has been rather concerned about you.”

He knew something, I realised then. He knew something about Tom and was only waiting for me to actually say it aloud.

“He’s a concerned Head Boy,” I said softly. “He seems to feel responsible for my welfare because he was the one to catch me.”

“And carry you to the hospital wing.” Sighing heavily, Dumbledore stared deeply into my eyes. I held them, refusing to look away. “Your head of house informs me as well that you’ve shown particular interest in a book.”

I wasn’t surprised that he was keeping an eye on me – I was certain that dozens of members of staff had been spoken to by Headmaster Dippet as a favour to my grandfather. But I hadn’t expected him to – or anyone – to keep such a close watch on my comings and goings. And even to attempt to _use_ that information to get something out of me. Whatever Dumbledore knew about Tom he was anxious for me to confirm it.

“There are two types of magic, Miss Lovegood,” he said finally in the face of my silence. “You are an incarnation of pure light magic.”

“What if there isn’t?” I posited, unable to stop myself when the teachings of the book was _right_ there in my mind. “What if there is only one type of magic and the way they use it determines whether it is light or dark?”

It was his turn to hold his silence. Professor Dumbledore continued to watch me, looking at me as if he’d lost. As if I’d disappointed him in some way. For the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to be saddened by it. Not when I was too busy wondering what he knew about Tom.

* * *

My dormmates, despite their best intentions to try to appease what was clearly working on my mind, had gone about it the wrong way. They’d tried to take whatever was worrying me off my mind by keeping me busy and coming to talk to me whenever I managed to catch a moment alone. However, it was quickly becoming aggravating, and I was close to snapping at them and demanding that they leave me alone. So instead, when my free period arrived, rather than joining them in the common room or the dorm or even the Great Hall like I usually did, I said something about seeing the matron. Waving away their offers to walk me, I insisted I could take myself and then proceeded to leave the castle.

Walking into the school grounds, I used my wand to create a magical umbrella to shield me from the rain. Heading down towards the Black Lake, I settled down under the trees and cast a warming charm to beat away the cold. Now that I was alone, I could think. Last night I’d written a letter to grandfather, asking him about his advice after having poured out all my troubles and my new revelations onto the parchment. Not that I’d sent it. After completing the letter, I’d thrown it into the common room fireplace and lost myself once more to my own worries.

Surely it was too cruel of fate to expect me to purify Tom Riddle’s magic at the expense of my own. But was it truly an expectation? Or was I taking it upon myself and deciding to do it myself? Because what if my doing so would bring about the greater good? What if, by tainting my own magic and no longer being an incarnation of pure magic – what if I did some good? Because if Tom’s magic was as dark as it felt, he had to be capable of some true horror. And really, there wasn’t anything particularly _good_ about representing pure light magic. Rather, it was restricting with me living in constant worry of corrupting my magic –

“Miss Lovegood?” I started from my thoughts at the call of my name, lifting my head and searching out the wizard that I knew was approaching me.

I found him then, walking through the rain toward me and shielded by his own umbrella. Continuing to silently watch Tom’s approach, I drew my knees to my chest. Crossing my arms and propping them on my knees, I continued to study him, slightly unnerved by the look in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was worried. And about me, at that.

“Why are you sitting in the rain?” he asked finally, having come to a stop beside me. He continued to stand over me, staring imperiously down at me as I propped my chin on my crossed arms. “Just last week you were in the hospital wing – did you enjoy your stay so much that you wish to go again?”

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were concerned,” I said slowly. He frowned, not appreciating my words. “What are you doing here?”

“I spied you on my way back to the castle,” he said eventually. I continued to watch Tom as he looked over me as if second-guessing something. But he sighed once and then removed his robe. To my surprise, he settled down beside me and without a grumble, draped his robe over my shoulders. “I would be surprised if you remembered to cast a warming charm.”

“I have.”

He didn’t react to my words or even taken his robes back. He didn’t even begin to make a move to leave. I glanced at Tom then, turning my head towards him; he was already looking at me. Sitting cross-legged and looking dissatisfied at being seated on the ground but focusing on me and waiting for me to address him.

“Why are you here?” I asked eventually.

“Why are _you_?”

I considered him for a moment, watching as under my eyes, Riddle’s own searched mine. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he was capable of legilimency. I had the sense to avert my eyes, “I wonder if you’d approach me if you knew the cost of it.”

“The cost?”

For a moment, only a moment, I held my tongue. And then I made a decision, one I already knew I was going to make; what was the point in shielding this knowledge from him? Everyone had a right to the truth and I wanted to actually do some good. I didn’t want to live my life hidden away at home and terrified about doing something to compromise my magic. What was the point of being light magic if I did no good?

“My encounters with your use of dark magic is tainting mine,” I admitted slowly, glancing towards him when he breathed in deeply through his nose. He didn’t look at me, staring ahead with furrowed brows. “But, whilst it’s tainting my magic, my light magic is purifying yours at the same time. I assume it will continue until –”

“Until equilibrium is reached,” he finished for me, his brain working quickly.

“That’s what I’m assuming.” Gesturing to the ring he still wore, I pointed out, “My magic could potentially undo whatever that is. Are you willing to risk that by continuing to allow yourself to be drawn to me?”

“Are _you_ willing to risk your magic being tainted?”

I admitted, “I’ve already accepted that there is just one type of magic.”

Riddle’s eyes were on me once more, staring so deeply at my side profile that I was certain he was trying to peer right into my mind. I turned my head then, holding his eyes and watching as he moved a little closer to me then. If only the girls who adored him could see him now; eyes open and baring his warring mind and soul to me. His eyes were a portrait of conflict.

I held my breath, watching his approach as he leaned in then. It would be so easy to draw away, to turn my cheek –

The first contact of his lips against mine was soft, barely-there and still enough to steal my breath for the wrong reason. His dark magic brushed through me then, clamping tight around my heart and clenching it before easing the longer it progressed. When it eased, I breathed out softly against Tom, turning into him and returning a kiss that shouldn’t have happened. Tom drew away slowly, parting far enough to watch me with curious eyes.

“Contact,” he realised softly, “Contact with the dark magic is what affects you.”

Still recovering from the burning in my lungs, I tried to say something in response. Not that there was another answer. Tom sighed, approaching me once more. I continued to watch him, uncertain even when he drew an arm around my shoulder and brought me to his side. Stiffening against him, I froze and waited for the sting of the dark magic to come. It never did. 

“Rest,” he ordered, bringing a hand up to my head and pushing it down to his shoulder, “You need to recover before we can head up to the castle.” 

* * *

From the moment we’d returned to the castle with me still tucked under Tom’s arm because I really was too faint to walk by myself, the rumours had begun to spread. Tom seemed uninterested in setting them straight and whenever I’d brought them up to him, he strived to remind me that whatever name we gave our relationship – we were in one now. Somehow, I wasn’t offended that he hadn’t asked and that he’d taken it upon himself to assume – but rather, I was unnerved with the speed to which it seemed _everyone_ knew. My dormmates weren’t even irritated that I had lied about seeing the matron, rather they wanted to know how long I had been sneaking away to visit Tom. They hadn’t been impressed with my truthful answer that I‘d never snuck away to see him.

Every day on from that, it seemed I spent at least an hour each day around Tom. Being around him was draining at first, the way it always was until I slowly grew used to it. He tried often to keep me from his friends – followers, I’d found out – not because of a strange sense of possessiveness. But because, I’d quickly discovered, that they too were practising dark magic. It was because I was surrounded by so much dark magic that I couldn’t spend a long time around his friends and I was thankful for it.

It was bad enough that rumours continued to circulate about the amount of time I spent with Tom, I didn’t need people to begin commenting on how I looked more comfortable at the Slytherin table than at my own. To my major irritation, the news hadn’t failed to reach the teachers. Most were pleased with the news, declaring that we made a glorious pairing. But of course, like I knew he would be, Professor Dumbledore was not pleased; he had even summoned me to his office just last night.

_“Miss Lovegood,” Professor Dumbledore began, sounding extremely disappointed. His eyes rooted me to my seat, watching me from behind his glasses as though he had no idea who I was. “Are you aware of what you are going to be giving up by continuing your relationship with Tom Riddle?”_

_I was struck once more by the confirmation that he knew. From the beginning, he knew that my exposure to Tom – to his ring – had been the thing that had sent me to the hospital wing. And yet, he continued to haul me before him, to try to coax the words out from my lips. But why did he need that from me? To use me as proof to hurt Tom? And what exactly would he do to Tom? He would no doubt be sent away from Hogwarts in the best circumstance and to Azkaban at the worst._

_I held my silence; like my earlier encounters with Tom – silence was the best way to navigate it. Sitting before this powerful wizard I knew that anything I said would open the conversation and I would find myself all too easily worked into telling him something I didn’t want to. Professor Dumbledore sighed and seemed as if he was going to rub his temples. But he didn’t._

_Finally, he said slowly, “If this continues forward, no other person born with your blood will have what you have. There will be no more incarnations of light magic born into your family.”_

_“Perhaps that is just as well,” I said softly, thinking back to how everything I read was first screened by my family before being deemed unharmful. Only after coming to Hogwarts did I pick up a book without knowing if it was ‘safe’ and only after coming here did I have the intellectual freedom to be able to research anything I wanted with no overwhelming fear that I was risking what made me who I was. “Perhaps no one should be raised as I was – hidden away. Thank you, Professor, for your concern, but I should return to the common room before curfew begins.”_

A call of my name, firm but quiet, brought me from my thoughts. I raised my eyes from the book I was supposed to be reading and looked toward Tom who was watching me with narrowed eyes. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten lost in my thoughts today and I knew he wanted to intrude to know what was keeping me preoccupied. But he held my eyes, propping his head up on a fist and waiting silently.

“Sorry,” I murmured, turning the page on my book.

“You’re still not going to tell me?” he asked, sighing when I shook my head. Tom was already so on edge about Professor Dumbledore – rightfully so – but I didn’t want to justify it.

Shaking his head, Tom reached out to take my hand in his. He cut off the excuse I could have given him by drawing me in for a surprise kiss. I almost flinched, expecting the pain to quickly follow, but it didn’t come. Drawing away, Tom released me abruptly and studied me.

“No pain?” he wondered aloud. “You don’t feel weak?”

I shook my head, licking my lips. “Nothing of the sort.”

“Perhaps it’s only the first time,” he theorised before once more returning to his own book. Tom had become a man possessed, wanting to get to the bottom of the connection we shared and continued to scour through every book the library had on offer. Abraxas Malfoy had even offered to have books owled in from his family’s library.

“Tom,” I started slowly, watching as he turned another page, the band of his ring catching in the light. He made a vague sound to indicate he was listening to me, “Your continual use of dark magic will have mine repeatedly purifying yours. I’m going to wither away at your side until there’s nothing left of me.”

His hand stilled short of turning his page. Just for a second. And then he was back to reading, and I knew it was likely untrue, but I swore the furrow to his brow was deeper as he lost himself in his contemplation.

* * *

It had been some time since I’d last spoken to Tom since I’d last spent any real time with him and it was enough for the rumours to once more spread across the school. Some believed I’d spurned Tom and thought too much of myself. Others believed that he had spurned _me._ And then there was the truth; Tom had never considered that I _would_ wither away at his side from repeatedly purifying his magic and now he was uncertain of how to progress. Rowena, _I_ was uncertain of how to progress. I’d already chosen to taint my magic in favour of redeeming his but what was the point of doing that when he showed no signs of redeeming himself?

I’d never thought it would happen, but Tom was the first to cave, to approach me. Silently, I watched his approach and wondered whether he’d made sure to seek me out whilst I was sitting with my friends in the Great Hall. Was it meant to get the castle to hold their tongues? Either way, I continued to watch him when Tom had his way down the Ravenclaw table and stopped beside me.

Tom stood tall, smiling pleasantly at my friends and looking all parts the perfect Head Boy before he asked, “Can I speak to Miss Lovegood?”

“Of course, of course,” Margot said instantly, shuffling our other dormmates along the bench to give us some semblance of space. Not that they wouldn’t be listening to our conversation.

Sitting down beside me, Tom turned to sit so he was facing me. He searched my eyes before saying a simple, “Hello.”

“Hello,” I said, wondering why he was here. 

“How have you been?” he asked quietly, eyes flickering past me to where I knew my dormmates were listening. For a moment, I saw irritation cloud his features; he regretted picking somewhere so public to have this conversation.

“Busy,” I said simply. If we hadn’t been in the middle of the Great Hall, I would’ve talked without worrying about anyone overhearing everything we said.

Tom nodded slowly and then sighed slowly. He dropped his head, seeming bashful, apologetic even, to everyone that wasn’t me and spoke softly so no one else could hear him. “I can’t give it up; the power or the knowledge.”

I held my silence, continuing to watch as Tom refused to lift his head. He really was too focused on ensuring that he maintained appearances. Even as he watched me from beneath long lashes, waiting for me to say something. Slowly, I forced myself to speak quietly enough that not even my dormmates who strained in their seats to hear me, would be able to make sense of what I’d said.

“I refuse to die for you.” Shaking my head, I said firmly, “It’s something I won’t do, Tom.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Reaching out slowly, Tom took my hand in his, holding it steady and ignoring the awed gasps and well-meaning whispers coming from my dormmates. “You and I both understand the truth of magic – there _is_ no such thing as light or dark magic, there is only what we do with it.”

“And you’re willing to look into other means?” He nodded in the face of my scepticism.

“What makes you think that I haven’t already looked into it?”

I was the one to lower my head then, to avoid the piercing stare that he was giving me. He was doing that thing once more, trying to read my innermost thoughts and I couldn’t help but wonder that even if he _did_ read them, would he be able to make sense of them? Because I was certainly unable to.

My eyes lingered on the hand cradling mine, holding it steady against his thigh. He still wore the ring, but now, a lesser amount of dark magic seeped out of it. Over time, the dark magic was slowly easing away, with my continued presence.

Tom followed my eyes, speaking even quieter now as he questioned aloud, “Will your magic be enough to piece together broken parts of a soul?”

I breathed in sharply, looking up then. Just what had he done to his soul? What could the ring possibly be – he’d implied it was part of his soul. But how …

I didn’t dare to speak my thoughts aloud, certainly not in the middle of the Great Hall where only one person needed to hear me and spread the word around. He held my gaze steadily, not shying away from the judgement that I knew was in my eyes.

“Do we have an agreement?” he asked softly. It wasn’t romantic, if Tom had made big romantic declaration then I would’ve known him to be lying. But he wasn’t. It was precisely _because_ it wasn’t a big declaration, I could read between the lines and understand just what he was offering me.

And so, I nodded, offering him a smile that became much more genuine when he lifted the hand he was still holding to his lips. Envious murmurs spread through the Great Hall as Tom reluctantly stood to return to his place at the Slytherin table. 


	2. Epilogue: 3 Years Later

_3 YEARS LATER_

My family received Tom better than I’d expected them to. It helped that they weren’t as sensitive to dark magic as I was and that when they _did_ meet Tom, the amount of dark magic permeating from him had reduced drastically. If there was one thing that Tom was capable of doing, it was portraying himself in the best possible light. To my family, he was the most responsible and trustworthy man that had ever walked the face of the planet – one that could have chosen any woman to love and yet he’d chosen me. It was always interesting, just how flawlessly Tom managed to construct an image for himself that people didn’t want to look beneath. And _because_ he had so flawlessly won my family over, they had no issues with leaving me in his care.

Father and grandfather had left our family home to venture off for business they refused to confide in me about – although, to my annoyance, they had consulted Tom on it. They saw no problems with leaving me with Tom, with entrusting him to make sure that nothing happened to me whilst they were away. They didn’t even appear to entertain the idea of something inappropriate happening because they believed Tom too good of a man to do something like that before he’d married me. It was almost awe-inspiring just how good he was at deceiving people.

But, nonetheless, we were left alone in our family home. The past few days had been filled with Tom exploring our home and my filling him in on some anecdotes about my life here. Today we had ventured up into the attic and uncovered some of my great-grandmother’s belongings and tried to see if there was any information about what she was – what I was. Our investigation had lasted the majority of the day and when we were finished, I was so tired that I just wanted to go to bed.

Tom found me in my bedroom, knocking on the door and waiting to be called in. Lying propped against the headboard, I used my finger to mark my page when I turned to the door and called out for him to enter. He didn’t right away. Tom pushed the door open, standing in the doorway as if he wasn’t sure he could enter. And now that I thought about it, he hadn’t ever set foot in my bedroom. He continued to watch me, waiting.

With a curious frown, I set aside the book and ushered him in again. “Come in, Tom.”

Finally complying, Tom walked into my bedroom, glancing curiously around the room. His eyes seemed to linger on some of the drawings on the wall – it was unconventional but my walls were covered in runes hand-drawn by my grandfather to protect me against dark magic. I swore I saw Tom smirk slightly when he realised what the runes were. He turned to face me once more, standing at the foot of my bed with his hands gathered at his back.

“Tom?” I started slowly, “Do you feel uncomfortable here?”

“Not at all,” he denied, shaking his head.

I watched him for a moment longer, frowning slightly when he reached out and held onto the footboard of my bed. “Have things at the Ministry really been so tough?”

“Not so bad,” he confessed straightening up and offering me a smile that I didn’t quite buy. Tom walked around the bed and when he came to my side, he hesitated before sitting. He reached out slowly, taking my hand in his again and rubbing the back of it slowly. I’d long learned that when Tom needed to think or even just some comfort in the face of stress, he took my hand and just held it close. I wondered if he too could feel the way our magic rose up to meet each other, wrapping comfortably around us now and having settled into a perfect companionship. Did that bring him comfort like it did to me? “It would be much worse if I hadn’t had my friends enter the Ministry.”

“You’ve got powerful friends ready to inherit their positions from their fathers,” I said simply because he needed me to continue to conversation whilst he thought over something in his head.

It took a short while until Tom nodded, having decided something. I didn’t dare ask; the last I’d heard he had his eyes on becoming Minister but beyond that, I didn’t ask. What I didn’t know, couldn’t harm me.

“Tom?” I coaxed slowly, studying the ring he still wore. The dark magic was barely there now and the Horcrux – _a Horcrux of all things –_ was a tough thing to contemplate. From what we’d studied together, my magic was helping to piece together the multiple parts of his soul. It was almost there – not quite but almost there.

“What is it?” he asked, making me look up into his curious eyes. “Well?”

“It’s nothing,” I assured, sitting up properly so I could reach for him. Bringing my hands up to his face, I cradled it softly just to see the way he closed his eyes at my touch. No one else got to see him like this – content and soft and vulnerable – and I couldn’t help but feel powerful because of it. “I just wanted to call your name.”

“What kind of rubbish is that?” he said trying to sound like he was complaining. He wasn’t. I understood him well enough to know that he wasn’t. Turning his head into one of my palms, he breathed out slowly, pressing a soft kiss to my palm. Rowena, he must have really been tired, to be so affectionate with me. I certainly wasn’t complaining. 


End file.
